Silver Lining
by DustyMonkey
Summary: Alex's life is absolutely perfect - until tragedy strikes. All it takes is an instant for a life to unravel. How will Alex pull herself through guilt and grief? Will this experience change her for the better, or the worse? Rated T for very intense scenes.
1. Prologue

**Author's note: I have had this idea in my head for awhile and finally got to writing it. The main focus is Alex, and how she deals with a heavy emotional trauma that effects her and someone she comes to care about. Not a romance story; focuses more on drama and friendship. I will try to update once a week or every couple of weeks. Enjoy!  
**

_I press my back against the wall so hard that I can feel the coldness of it on my back. My heart is beating at such a fast pace that I'm afraid it is going to leap right out of my chest, and my breathing is rapid and jagged. __I think if I inhale any sharper, my chest will explode._

_I don't remember ever being so scared. Coming back from the dead, testifying in front of the man who shot me, returning to my old life; all of these events paled in comparison to what I am facing right now._

_I can hear footsteps in the hall and my breath literally hitches in my throat. I have to bite my bottom lip to keep from crying. I start to shake, and I wrap my arms around myself in an effort to stop the tremors. I love this_

_Why didn't I shut the door after I ran in here? He's going to know I'm in here - the door is wide open. I might as well go over the intercom and announce where I am._

_The footsteps get closer. They're slow, yet purposeful and deliberate. The person approaching is obviously on a mission and knows exactly where they want to go._

_I know it's him. _

_I slide down the wall and sit on the floor with my back against it, drawing my knees to my chest and leaning my forehead on my knees. I'm crying silently now and I've abandoned any idea of trying to compose myself. I can't. I know I'm about to die. _

_Suddenly, the footsteps abruptly stop and I hear a man's voice shout out, "Hey!"_

_The voice sounds far away and I slowly begin to realize the voice doesn't match the footsteps. The footsteps had been closer than the voice. _

_Now I hear a second set of footsteps, quick and heavy this time. The owner of the voice – I'm sure this time. They stop outside the hall, in what sounds like mere inches from the open door._

"_Where can I find Alex Cabot?" the gruff voice demands._

_I force my tears away and strain to listen. Only one person knows I came in here, and I saw her run away. _

_There is no response to the question. In a harsher, louder tone, the man asks again._

"_Why do you want to know?" the person finally answers, and my heart stops again. _

_No; it can't be. I feel the onslaught of tears threatening me again. It's __**her**__. I was so sure she had gotten away. But I recognize her voice. _

_And I know she's going to sell me out. How could she not?_

"_Because I want to know," the man answers, and then I hear the most frightening sound I've ever heard – the sound of the safety on a gun being clicked off. "Tell me where she is." I don't have to have x-ray vision to know he is pointing a gun at her right now. _

_It should only be seconds before she tells him where I am to save herself. Seconds before he comes in and shoots me. Seconds left to be alive._

_I realize I've been holding my breath for several minutes and I let it out, a cry escaping out along with it. I'm shaking so hard that I have to wring my hands together. I suddenly feel nauseous. _

_So this is what it feels like to die. This is the kind of fear felt by every innocent victim__**. **I was a victim once. I was on my back on the cold hard ground while Olivia leaned over with tears in her eyes, desperately trying to keep me with her. The fear I felt at that moment has been with me every day, recessed in the back of my mind, waiting to spring to life again. I swore to myself I would never know that fear again. But it appears I lied to myself. I'm once more going to become a victim._

_And then I heard the words I never expected to hear, "I'm Alex Cabot." _

_My mind can't wrap around what she just said. I can't process any thoughts. All I can do is sit in shock, unmoving. __I know the right thing to do; the right thing is to get up and run into the hall and show myself and save an innocent life. For the first time, I feel what Olivia felt on the night of my shooting – total helplessness. It's like my mind has a pact with my body not to allow it to move._

_The gunshots come only seconds after she speaks, though it seems like much more time has elapsed. Two shots, in perfect succession. No screams. No begging for her life. Just two shots._

_And then silence._

_I want to scream. I want to vomit. I want to run. But I can't. I'm frozen; paralyzed by fear._

_A few seconds after the gunshots, I hear the heavy footsteps again. I listen as they seem to get further and further away. The next sound I hear is the elevator ring. I wait until I hear the doors swoosh shut before I allow myself to breathe again._

_I know I have to go out into the hall. I have to see if she's alive. If she is, I have to help her. She saved my life. She took a bullet that was meant for __**me. **__I have to do everything I can; if there is anything that can be done._

_My mind knows this is what I should do, but I can't make my body cooperate. I can't make myself stand. I'm sobbing and shaking and I can barely breathe. _

_What is wrong with me? I am always in control of myself. I am always calm and collected. I never panic. I'm better than that._

_Yet I just sat here hidden and allowed someone else to take two bullets that we were meant for me. And if she's still alive, every second I sit here is a second she slips further away._

_But I'm not strong enough. I draw my knees up to my chest and rock myself back and forth, consumed with tears. _

**So what put Alex in this situation? Who saved her life? You'll have to read to find out! This is the prologue; chapter 1 will be posted in the next week or so.**


	2. Chapter 1

**Thanks for the reviews, everyone! Glad some of you are liking this. Here's an update for you - hope you enjoy.**

You know that saying that no one has a perfect life?

I think mine might be.

Maybe my life wasn't perfect before – in fact, I _know _it wasn't. I've made mistakes in my past. Bad judgment calls. But I've also paid the price for those mistakes and bad judgments. And if you learn from a mistake – if you make it a _lesson _– can you really consider it a 'mistake'?

I've never thought so. The things I've been through have shaped who I am today. The long, lonely road I've traveled has helped rebuild my confidence in myself. It's made me sure of who and what I am. What I think of myself, and how others see me.

How exactly do others see me? That's something I've never spent much time worrying about. I'm above the opinions of others. The nicknames I've earned in my professional life – 'The Ice Queen' among the most charming – have little effect on me now. Some might describe me as 'cold' or 'uncaring'. But I harbor as much compassionate, if not more, for the victims I work for as the next person. I just don't show it as easily. I can keep things inside. I can appear icy to my colleagues because I demand a lot from them, but never more than I demand from myself.

I don't let people get close to me easily or often, nor do I allow myself to get too close to anyone else. I don't believe in attachments to other people. I've learned the hard way that you will hurt the people you care about the most, and they will hurt you, no matter what. You will be torn from them, sometimes out of your own control. And the heartache and the sadness just aren't worth it.

That's not to say I don't have any friends; I do. I have a very small group of people that I feel comfortable being maybe sixty-percent of myself around. Elliot, Olivia, Fin, George; these people I would have no problem using the word "friend" in reference to. We go out to drinks after tough work days and unwind. We've celebrated birthdays together. We've had lunch and shopped together. We've spent evenings together at our apartments, trying to talk each other out of insanity after a particularly tough case.

But even as much I as care about these people, I can't let them all the way in. I can't let them see the real _me_. I can't let them get too close. They may be able to peer over my iron walls, but they will never get over them or knock them down.

I focus on my career and I what I want from my life. I've accomplished more in my lifetime than most people could accomplishment in multiple lifetimes, and I'm proud of everything I've done. I'm proud to have the highest conviction rate at the Manhattan District Attorney's office, and to be the Assistant District Attorney with the most seniority. I can pick and choose my cases. I can set my own hours. I have a staff working for me. I'm highly respected in the courtroom and around the office. I have a career goal in sight and I know just how I want to get there.

And the next step towards my future resides in the promotion I am up for – Executive Assistant District Attorney. It's basically one-step down from District Attorney; his right-hand man or woman, per say. The job comes with more responsibilities, of course. I would take on more of a supervisory role to other ADAs in the office and I would determine who gets what cases and oversee their progress, as well as get an increased caseload of my own. And, above all, the job comes with a fancy title.

District Attorney Jack McCoy is announcing his choice to fill this spot this afternoon, but I already consider the job mine. I've been planning for it and preparing to transition over for several weeks now. Our of everyone in the office, I'm the most qualified. I've been here the longest, I have the best conviction rate, and I'm damn good at what I do. There isn't one person in this office would agree with that. I've minced no words and made it clear to McCoy that this is what I want. And when don't I get what I want? Almost never.

Aside from my qualifications, the other candidates just don't have what it takes. McCoy is also considering a relatively young and unknown ADA, Tracy Remena, who wants to transfer out of Appeals, and Casey Novak. Both have many strikes against them. Tracy has been with the DA's office less than six years and her conviction rate is less-than impressive. And Casey Novak – where shall I start with her? She has a very public censure on her record, and had her law license suspended for three years. I strongly disagreed with McCoy's decision to re-hire her, but I could do little to influence it. The fact that he's considering her for this job at all stuns me. Tough I suppose there has to be some competition, just for show.

I've prepared a little speech in my head that I'm going to deliver when McCoy announces I'm his choice at our meeting this afternoon; an acceptance speech of sorts. I've put together just the right words to make me appear humble and relatively shocked that I was chosen.

I'm still rehearsing it in my mind as we all assemble in the conference room. My colleagues pour in, and I take my usual seat to the right of McCoy. I've already got this job; I just don't have the title. I'm just waiting to be crowned.

I don't feel the least bit nervous as I watch everyone come in. Ninety-eight percent of the people in this room aren't even being considered for the job, and I'm convinced they don't really care who is chosen. It's not going to matter much to them; it isn't going to change their lives at all. To them, this is just a weekly inconvenient meeting.

I notice Tracy get a few handshakes when she enters the room. She smiles and thanks them for their kind words. Too bad she doesn't stand a chance.

McCoy starts to speak before everyone is present. "We're going to start a few minutes late today; Casey Novak is stuck in court. And she needs to be at this meeting."

I nearly scoff. Why? It isn't as if she's getting the job. McCoy wouldn't hand over such a prestigious title so someone with such a spotty record. We can fill her in on my victory later. Maybe someone will be so kind as to record my speech for her.

Thankfully, we don't have to wait long before she arrives. She enters quickly and takes an empty seat across from me, apologizing profusely for being late. She gives me a smile but I just look away. I'm not one for false pleasantries.

McCoy goes through a nearly forty-five minute speech about the importance of the EADA position and the responsibly that it entails. He talks about the qualities he looked for, and how hard it was to choose one person out of the "wonderful, qualified candidates" who were considered. I nearly scoff again.

Finally, he concludes his speech with, "After several weeks of deliberation, I've reached a decision. I've chosen a leader who will represent me and this office with dignity and respect. Someone I can trust. And someone I know will always have the best interests of this office at heart."

This is the crowning moment. I almost stand up, but I figure that would be too presumptuous. I have to at least make it _look _like I wasn't sure I had this wrapped up.

And then he speaks again, "I've chosen Casey Novak."

It takes my brain several seconds to process the words he has just spoken. And once I process them, I can't believe them. My mouth actually drops open in shock.

The entire room is silent and all eyes are on me. Not on Casey – on _me. _Everyone just assumed I would get this job, and now they are just waiting for my reaction. The look of shock I see on my colleague's faces could rival my own right now.

I force myself to look at Casey, and she looks to be the most shocked out of all of us. She looks at McCoy, as if wanting a confirmation of his words. He just nods his head and smiles proudly.

I am feeling so many emotions right now that I don't know which one to give into – betrayal, anger and embarrassment are all fighting for control.

I'm Alex Cabot – this kind of thing just _doesn't _happen to me. No one bests me. Especially not someone like Casey Novak.

I can still feel several sets of eyes on me and I look at the tabletop, anger winning the emotional battle inside of me. This is an outrage; it's completely unacceptable.

Several colleagues have approached Casey and are congratulating her and suddenly I'm not the focus of attention anymore. McCoy raises his eyes and meets mine, and I glare at him before gathering my folders up from the table.

Casey has just started talking when I make my hasty exit. For the first time, I don't care how unprofessional this looks. I cannot sit in that room and listen to someone who doesn't deserve the job – who doesn't even deserve to be here _at all – _talk about how happy they are to get it.

What the hell was McCoy thinking? Does he realize the credibility of this office is about to go down the drain? Casey is going to be picked apart by the media because of her record. McCoy's judgment is going to be questioned. But I guess he didn't think about that.

When I get back to my office, I angrily slam the door and sit down at my desk. I'm still in a state of disbelief. I don't have any words to adequately describe what I feel right now. I rip off my glasses and rub my eyes, trying to rub away the stress. I'm actually nearly in tears, and quite ashamed of myself for that.

For the next twenty minutes, I reevaluate my position. I deserve better than this. McCoy has made a dreadful mistake, and he's going to learn the hard way. If, after nearly fourteen years of faithful service, McCoy feels it necessary to appointment someone who is not qualified in the least for a job over me, I can't be here anymore. I can't work under someone knowing that I should be in their place. Especially someone I have no respect for whatsoever.

I'm in the process of considering writing my resignation when there's a knock on my door. And wouldn't you know it – it's Jack McCoy.

I don't even greet him as he comes in and takes a seat across from my desk. I pretend to be busily working away on my laptop. But that doesn't stop him from speaking.

"I could tell you're very upset, but not congratulating Casey was very unprofessional."

I move my eyes from my computer to McCoy. "You're going to lecture me on unprofessionalism?" I can't hide the anger in my voice. "The woman you 'chose' for this job is the poster girl for unprossionalism."

"Now, Alex, that isn't fair. You didn't even stay to hear my reasons why I chose Casey."

"I don't really care to hear your reasons, Jack," I tell him, sitting back in my chair and crossing my arms against my chest. "Casey Novak - really? What the hell were you thinking, Jack? She was censured! She had her license suspended!"

"I'm aware of that," McCoy answers without even missing a beat. "I'm also aware that Casey is a great prosecutor, with a conviction record that nearly rivals yours."

I laugh and return my attention to my laptop. "It takes more than being a great prosecutor to do a job like that. She doesn't have what it takes. No one is going to respect her. No one is going to listen to her."

"And you do?" McCoy asks. "You have what it takes?"

"Of course! I've been doing this job for two years; just without the title. I've been your right-hand and done your dirty work for two years, Jack. Two years. You know that. Casey has been back from her suspension for less than two years. I have the respect of our colleagues, and the knowledge to do this job. What you did to me today…" I trail off and shake my head. "It was a slap in that face, Jack. A slap in the face." I turn back to my computer. "And I can't promise you I'll stick around to watch this office descend into a black hole."

McCoy is silent for a moment. And when she speaks again, it's purposeful and direct. "Casey has made mistakes; she acknowledges that and she owns up to those mistakes. She doesn't make excuses for herself. She deserved a second chance. Everyone deserves a second chance. She's just as good as you, Alex; in every way. And do you know what she possesses that you don't?"

I'm interested to hear this, so I raise my eyes and look at McCoy questioningly.

"She doesn't feel entitled to anything, the way you do. You've been on a crusade for nearly a month to make sure I knew how much you wanted this job; how much you deserved this job. Casey didn't _try _to get the job. She focused on her work and was herself while you were busy making sure I noticed everything you did and made sure I knew how important you felt you were to this office. And as for colleagues respecting Casey – I don't see that it's going to be an issue. Casey's people skills are more advanced than yours, Alex."

His words are hitting home, and I have to look away so he won't see the guilt and realization in my eyes. "What do you mean?" I demand, frowning in anger.

"What I mean is people aren't afraid to talk to Casey. She doesn't tear someone's head off for making a small mistake. She doesn't put unnecessary pressure on anyone. She listens, and she's supportive of her colleagues. She thinks of someone other than herself and her career when she performs her job." McCoy stops abruptly and stands. "I think you could learn something from her. Consider this a valuable lesson, Alex. Not even _you _are above lessons."

I lower my eyes to my desk and let McCoy's words sink in as he exits my office, closing the door behind him.

* * *

I finish early and decide to give my resignation some more thought once I'm home. I'm not in the mood to do much else. My anger is still at the boiling point. I just need to get away from this office and away from people right now.

I've just made it to the parking garage when someone calls my name from behind me.

I spin around and sigh as I realize it's Casey. She's approaching me quickly and I shake my head, starting to walk again. "I don't have time for this," I say curtly.

"Alex – please." Casey stops right beside me. "I just need a moment of your time."

I sigh to let he know how unhappy I am about this and cross my arms in front of my chest again. "Fine – you have one minute. Make it count."

She nods and wastes no time talking. "I wanted to say I am sorry about today. I'm sorry about how things turned out."

I actually laugh out loud. "Seriously? You expect me to believe that? You got a promotion today; one that should have been mine. You aren't sorry in the least."

This would normally deter someone from going any further, but Casey doesn't stop. "I'm just sorry about how it turned out for you. I know you deserved that job. But I deserve it too. And I'm going to do my best to be successful."

I scoff at her. "And you're telling me this why…?"

"I just wanted you to know. I know you were never happy about me coming back here. I know you don't like me. But maybe we can put that behind us and be friends."

That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard. "Friends? I don't think so. I have no desire to be your _friend. _And you're right – I don't like you, or the fact that you're here. And I certainly don't think you should have gotten this job." I'm about to walk away, but I stop to say one more thing, "And if you think I'm taking orders from someone like you, you have another thing coming. I pick and choose my cases; you aren't interfering with that. I have very high standards and a low tolerance for stupidity or someone who can't pull their weight or has no respect for a job they've sworn to do. You lied to a judge, Casey. You _knowingly _lied. I don't care to associate myself with someone of such weak moral fiber."

As soon as those words leave my mouth, I regret them. They were cruel; unnecessarily cruel. Casey made a mistake, but I've made my share as well. It's not fair that I throw her mistakes in her face. This is exactly what McCoy was talking about.

But even though I know this is wrong, I don't apologize. I _can't._ I can't let Casey see me second-guessing myself.

So I turn and walk away. I stride briskly towards my car. And it's only a few seconds before Casey follows me.

"What gives you the right to judge me?" she demands, catching up to me. "You don't really know me at all."

"Oh, I do," I spit out, turning to face her again. "I do know you. I know you showed no regard for your job when you lied to Petrovsky. I know you lost your license for three years. I know you weaseled your way back in to the office somehow and stole a job from under my nose. And I know I deserve it more than you."

I start walking again, and Casey shouts, "What makes you think you're so superior to me and everyone else?"

"I don't have to think," I reply, without even turning around. I'm surprised at how easily I'm able to be cruel. It's as if I'm a robot and I'm programmed to spit out cruelty as a defense tactic.

"It's sickening how much you love yourself."

That statement causes me to turn around. Casey's words sting, and I'm about to come back with some of my own, but she beats me to it.

She shakes her head. "You know what? It isn't worth it. I made an attempt to make things civil between us. If you have no interest in that, that's on you. But I have this job, Alex. Not you. And you're going to have to accept that. I'm not wasting another second trying to be your friend because it's not worth it, and neither are you."

For once, I'm rendered speechless as I watch Casey walk away. And when I finally start to move again, her words are still stinging.

**So, what did you think? Was McCoy right for not giving Alex the job? What does this mean for her? Please leave me a review and let me know what you think!**


	3. Chapter 2

**Sorry it's taken me so long to update! I have not forgotten about this story and I have big plans for it. I will try to update weekly from now on. Enjoy!**

The next two weeks passes without incident, but my anger and resentment for Casey being chosen for the Executive ADA job does not dissipate in the least. I do everything to avoid her; I don't go to any of the DA meetings; I use the excuse that I had an appointment or court ran late. I ignore her emails and I'm conveniently out of the office whenever she wants to see me.

It's no way to handle the problem and I know it, but I don't know what else to do. It's easier for me this way. Talking to her will only end in me being angry all over again and being as cruel and hurtful as possible because she got what I wanted. Best to avoid the situation all together.

It took a little while for my colleagues to stop looking at me like I was a zoo exhibit. Whenever I'd walk down the hall people would stop and just stare at me. The minute I stepped onto the elevator all conversations ceased. Everyone knew how angry I was about not getting the job and treated me like fine China; as if they were afraid I'd break and take them down with me. Thankfully I'm at a point in my life where I'm above the opinions of others. But I have to say, it did still bother me.

Maybe I would have snapped; I can't say for sure. The first week had been the toughest. I snapped at everyone in sight and for the first time I started not caring about my work. My attitude was if they didn't appreciate me enough to give me a promotion I more than deserved after everything I've done, why should I care about my work?

The attitude was short-lived and the following week I was back to working until almost seven every night. Throwing myself into my work seemed like the only way to start moving on.

I've barely said two words to Jack McCoy since the day he made the announcement that Casey was chosen for the job. I honestly have nothing to say to him. I always thought we had a great relationship; I respected him and he respected me. What he did equaled a slap in the face. And what's worse, it was in front of my colleagues. A very public humiliation in which someone inferior to me was chosen for the job I'd been primed for. My years of service, my conviction rate, and my _experience_ apparently meant nothing. He'd rather give a very important job to someone who had been censured and had their law license suspended for three years and somehow managed to claw their way back into the D.A's office. McCoy's reasons for this strange choice did make me think about the way I conduct myself, but I cannot justify Casey being chosen over me no matter how many times I try. Granted she is better with people, I'll give her that one, and her conviction rate is almost as impressive as my own, but these are not reasons to be elevated to the position of ADA. Over the past two weeks I've wondered if maybe something else is going on.

As much as I wanted this job for myself, I also wanted it for my father. For his memory, for his legacy. He's the reason I do what I do every day. My father is the biggest inspiration of my entire life. I walk these halls every day knowing that my father used to walk them as well. I know he'd be proud of me and the work I'm doing. My father was an executive ADA and he worked hard to get there, much like I have. A big part of my motivation is making my father proud. And part of me is glad he is not here right now and doesn't know that I've failed.

Although I've been avoiding Casey, I've also been paying attention to how she is doing her job. I have to say I'm impressed. She hasn't screwed up yet, at least not to my knowledge. Being in charge of several ADAs and delegating caseloads can't be easy. I honestly didn't think she'd last two weeks. Whenever I start to convince myself that maybe I'm not being fair to her I think about what she did and how she betrayed everything we stand for as prosecutors and is somehow still further along than me. Then the anger and resentment returns.

On Thursday of the second week I am sitting at my desk on my computer working on some case notes for a trial that starts the next day when my door opens and Casey enters my office unannounced and uninvited.

I barely glance up at her and sigh. "I'm busy – hence the reason my door was closed. Ever hear of knocking?"

"I'm sure you would have told me to go away," she answers back, sounding as annoyed as I am.

I smile to myself. "You're right, I would have." I finally raise my eyes and look at her. She's holding a very large case file. "So leave."

"No, I won't," she says sternly. "You've been going out of your way to avoid talking to me, you haven't come to one meeting since I was appointed for this job, you don't answer my emails and you completely blow me off when I leave you a message in your office saying I want to see you. It ends today."

Ohhh, she's serious. I've made her mad. I'm slightly amused at how important she thinks she is, so I sit back in my chair and cross my arms in front of my chest in a defiant pose.

"I know you don't like me, and believe me, the feeling is _more _than mutual," she says, and it stings a little. "But that doesn't change the fact that because of our jobs, we have to have a working relationship. You have to come to the weekly meetings to make sure you're on the same page as everyone else." She digs a piece of paper out of the huge file she has and lays it down on my desk.

I look down at it – it appears to be a checklist. "What is this?"

"Some changes I've made. I do things a little differently than McCoy does. Since you're unaware, I took the time to type it up for you. And I suggest you read it."

I want to laugh out loud. Changes? Really? I don't even bother to read the first one; as soon as she leaves this will go into my desk drawer until I feel it's important to read it. Which will be probably never. "Looks like great reading. Too bad I can't download it to my Nook."

She ignores my snarky comment and practically throws the heavy file down on my desk. "I give out case assignments for the week at the Monday morning meetings. Which you would know, if you bothered to show up. So this is what you were supposed to be working on all week. Congratulations; you're behind."

I flip open the case file and there are at least three pending cases inside. I look up at her angrily. "I should have had this on Monday! Do you know how long it's going to take me to catch up?"

Casey shows no sympathy whatsoever. "That falls under the category of 'Alex's problems and not mine'. I have been sending you messages all week. I have to come to your office several times to see you. If you had read my emails before elegantly pressing the 'delete' button, you would have discovered that I attached the files to every one of them. You could have been working on all this on Monday if you had gotten over yourself."

I'm flipping through the files and getting angrier. One of these cases goes to trial a week from Tuesday; today is Thursday. There's no way I will have enough time to meet with the appropriate witnesses and prep the case in addition to everything else she wants me to do.

I'm mostly angry at myself, because I know this is my fault and this was easily avoidable. But it's easier to blame Casey, so that's what I'm doing. "You should have just left this in my office. Now I'm four days behind."

Casey actually laughs. "So this is my fault? Instead of admitting that your behavior has been deplorable, you choose to blame _me _for it? Sorry, Alex, but this isn't my fault and I don't feel sorry for you. Looks like you'll be spending your weekend at the fabulous Manhattan D.A.'s office while I'm at home relaxing."

I had no big weekend plans anyway, but I certainly didn't want to be here and Casey standing in front of my desk and gloating about the fact that she doesn't have to work and I do is really making me angry, even though this whole thing is my fault. I flip the file closed and look at her again. "Is there anything else?"

"Yes; get an attitude makeover. You don't have to treat me like I'm dirt on the bottom of your thousand dollar shoes. I'm sorry I got this job and you didn't. I never thought McCoy would pick me. But he did, so you have to accept it and move on. I've tried to be nice to you. What is your damn problem?"

I'm in no mood to rehash this right now, so I just say, "_You're _my problem. I don't like you or anything you stand for, and you were the least deserving of this job. The fact that he chose you baffles me." I should just leave it at that, but I'm still in full attack mode. "You two have a fling or something?"

Casey rolls her eyes and steps away from my desk. "That is disgusting – I can't believe you said that. Forget it. Just do your damn work and show up to the meetings on Mondays. Other than that, I'll only see you when I absolutely have to. I don't know why I even _wanted _to be your friend. You may be smart and talented at your job, but your attitude stinks and I certainly misjudged your character. I expect to see you at our meeting Monday morning. I expect you to be there sans the attitude. If you don't show up again, I'll take disciplinary action. Even the High Priestess of the DA's office has to follow the same rules as everyone else."

I don't say anything else as she turns and leaves my office, slamming the door behind her. I look once more at the pile of work on my desk and angrily curse out loud. I'm mad at myself and _not _at Casey for once. She is just doing her job and I'm the bitch that can't let go of my personal resentment towards her having that job.

I put myself behind. I'll be here all weekend because of _me. _Casey didn't do this; I did. It's just so much easier to blame her. I hate that I feel the need to be this way. That I have to resort to going into Ice Queen Mode instead of apologizing when I'm wrong. I don't think the words "I'm sorry" have moved past my lips more than three times in my life, and there's been a lot of situations where they have been warranted. I just can't seem to say it. I equate admitting that I'm wrong with being weak. And I'm not weak.

I finish up what I'm currently working on and decide to get a jump start on this file. As soon as I open it again, a headache hits me. I know what I'm going to have to do to finish by Monday, and I'm not looking forward to it. Thirteen hour days, here I come.

I decide to go get some coffee to fuel me. The nearest coffee machine is in the conference room down the hall so I go in there, finding it empty was a freshly brewed pot of coffee. I smile at that small victory.

I've just poured myself a cup when I hear the first scream and the first gunshot.

**What did you think of this chapter? the next one is really intense, so prepare yourself. I won't make you wait long for it. Leave me a review and let me know what you think!**


	4. Chapter 3

**Here's the update! Sorry to keep you hanging for so long.  
**

I'm so startled by what I am hearing that I drop my coffee cup. It hits the linoleum floor and shatters into what has to be a million pieces. I stand frozen in place, watching the remnants of the cup come to rest in a messy pile in front of me. I just continue to stare, my mind desperately needing focal point of attention.

My body is in the conference room at the Manhattan District Attorney's office – but I am not.

The sharp, deliberate sound of the gunshots has instantly transported me back to that sidewalk where Alex Cabot had essentially died; where everything was taken from me.

_Olivia is leaning over me, pressing her hand to the wound in my shoulder tightly. She has tears in her eyes as softly yet desperately pleas with me to stay with her. "Alex – look at me, sweetheart. You're going to be okay. Stay with me."_

_There is a burning pain in my shoulder and I feel myself starting to shake. I know I'm going into shock. Olivia turns around as Elliot approaches and says something to him, but her voice is rushed and terrified and I can't make out what she says._

_Now Elliot is leaning over me too. He takes his hand and places it behind my head gently. "Hold on, Alex. Help is on the way. Stay with us."_

_I can feel myself slipping away. I'm losing far too much blood and I can't stop the shaking. I look into Olivia's eyes and I try to form words, but my throat is dry and I don't have the strength to make the words come out. My vision is beginning to blur and it's getting harder and harder to keep my eyes open._

_I have never __**not **__been in control before. Never felt so helpless. But yet here I am, bleeding out on the sidewalk with my friends trying to keep me alive, and feeling my life slip away._

Another gunshot and yelling snaps me out of my flashback. Somehow, I've ended up on the floor. I'm sitting next to the coffee machine with my knees pulled up to my chest, rocking myself back and forth gently. My movements are involuntary, and I'm breathing heavily.

Despite my crippling fear, some logic does seep through to my mind. What is going on? How did someone get into this building with a gun? Who was shot? Who is the shooter?

I know I should hide. I'm in the open here. If the shooter were to even look in the room, he'd see me and I'd be dead in an instant. But I can't make myself move. I continue to rock myself back and forth, my hands clasped around my knees tightly.

And then it happens – someone pokes their head into the conference room. I'm so scared that I stiffen and my breath catches in my throat.

I'm about to die and I know it. My paralyzing fear has gotten me killed.

I'm so scared that I don't even realize who is looking into the conference room until she speaks. "Alex! Is anyone else in here?"

It's not the shooter. It's Casey. She looks as scared as I am, but at least she's able to function.

I don't answer her – I just stare at her. I'm still not completely connected with the moment and I can't make myself speak.

Suddenly, Casey is crouched down in front of me. I have no recollection of her coming into the conference room, but she's right here and I'm staring at her.

"Alex," she asks softly. "Are you okay?"

It takes me several seconds before I'm able to nod. She asks me again if anyone else is in here with me, and I manage to shake my head.

She stands back up and looks towards the door. "Stay in here. I don't think he came this way." She swallows harshly before she adds, "He shot the two security guards on duty. The building is on lockdown. Stay here. I'm going to go find my staff."

I should tell her not to go back out there. This conference room is more than big enough for the two of us to hide in. As much as I don't like Casey, I don't want her to be killed. I should demand that she not walk back out that door.

She tells me again to stay where I am and I watch her quickly disappear out the door.

Almost immediately, I hear loud yelling and another shot.

I press my back against the wall so hard that I can feel the coldness of it on my back. My heart is beating at such a fast pace that I'm afraid it is going to leap right out of my chest, and my breathing is rapid and jagged. I think if I inhale any sharper, my chest will explode.

I don't remember ever being so scared. Coming back from the dead, testifying in front of the man who shot me, returning to my old life; all of these events paled in comparison to what I am facing right now.

I can hear footsteps in the hall and my breath literally hitches in my throat. I have to bite my bottom lip to keep from crying. I start to shake, and I wrap my arms around myself in an effort to stop the tremors.

Why didn't I shut the door after Casey an out? He's going to know I'm in here - the door is wide open. I might as well go over the intercom and announce where I am.

The footsteps get closer. They're slow, yet purposeful and deliberate. The person approaching is obviously on a mission and knows exactly where they want to go.

I know it's the shooter.

I wrap my arms tighter around my knees and lean my forehead on my knees. I'm crying silently now and I've abandoned any idea of trying to compose myself. I can't. I know I'm about to die.

Suddenly, the footsteps abruptly stop and I hear a man's voice shout out, "Hey!"

The voice sounds far away and I slowly begin to realize the voice doesn't match the footsteps. The footsteps had been closer than the voice. This was someone else.

Now I hear a second set of footsteps, quick and heavy this time. The owner of the voice – I'm sure this time. They stop outside the hall, in what sounds like mere inches from the open door.

"Where can I find Alex Cabot?" the gruff voice demands.

At the mention of my name, I feel my heart stop. They are here for me. Just like before. Two security guards lost their lives because of me.

I force my tears away and strain to listen. Only Casey knows I'm hiding in here, and she's probably made it to her office by now. I'm safe…I have to be safe.

There is no response to the question. In a harsher, louder tone, the man asks again.

"Why do you want to know?" the person finally answers, and my heart stops again.

No; it can't be. I feel the onslaught of tears threatening me again. It's Casey. I was so sure she had gotten away. But I recognize her voice.

And I know she's going to sell me out. How could she not? It's her life or mine – of course she'll save herself.

"Because I want to know," the man answers, and then I hear the most frightening sound I've ever heard – the sound of the safety on a gun being clicked off. "Tell me where she is." I don't have to have x-ray vision to know he is pointing a gun at her right now.

It should only be seconds before she tells him where I am to save herself. Seconds before he comes in and shoots me. Seconds left to be alive.

I realize I've been holding my breath for several minutes and I let it out, a cry escaping out along with it. I'm shaking so hard that I have to wring my hands together. I suddenly feel nauseous.

So this is what it feels like to die. This is the kind of fear felt by every innocent victim. I was a victim once. I was on my back on the cold hard ground while Olivia leaned over with tears in her eyes, desperately trying to keep me with her. The fear I felt at that moment has been with me every day, recessed in the back of my mind, waiting to spring to life again. I swore to myself I would never know that fear again. But it appears I lied to myself. I'm once more going to become a victim.

And then I heard the words I never expected to hear, "I'm Alex Cabot."

My mind can't wrap around what she just said. I can't process any thoughts. All I can do is sit in shock, unmoving. I know the right thing to do; the right thing is to get up and run into the hall and show myself and save an innocent life. For the first time, I feel what Olivia felt on the night of my shooting – total helplessness. It's like my mind has a pact with my body not to allow it to move.

The gunshots come only seconds after she speaks, though it seems like much more time has elapsed. Two shots, in perfect succession. No screams. No begging for her life. Just two shots.

And then silence.

I want to scream. I want to vomit. I want to run. But I can't. I'm frozen; paralyzed by fear.

A few seconds after the gunshots, I hear the heavy footsteps again. I listen as they seem to get further and further away. The next sound I hear is the elevator ding. I wait until I hear the doors swoosh shut before I allow myself to breathe again.

I know I have to go out into the hall. I have to see if Casey's alive. If she is, I have to help her. She saved my life. She took a bullet that was meant for me. I have to do everything I can; if there is anything that can be done.

My mind knows this is what I should do, but I can't make my body cooperate. I can't make myself stand. I'm sobbing and shaking and I can barely breathe.

What is wrong with me? I am always in control of myself. I am always calm and collected. I never panic. I'm better than that.

Yet I just sat here hidden and allowed someone else to take two bullets that we were meant for me. And if she's still alive, every second I sit here is a second she slips further away.

I'm still shaking uncontrollably and all I want is to squeeze my eyes shut and have this all be a horrible dream when I open them again. Maybe it is a dream – maybe none of this happened.

So I squeeze my eyes shut and I count to ten. Ten is the magic number. My therapist in Wisconsin would always tell me to close my eyes and count to ten when I felt like I was about to panic. She assured me it would help and I'd be able to function when I opened my eyes again. And every time I tried it, it did provide me with the time I needed to sufficiently calm down.

But will it work this time? Will anything work?

When I open my eyes, I'm still sitting on the floor in the conference room with my back pressed up against the wall and I'm still shaking. I'm terrified beyond belief.

Then it's like someone pressed a switch. I stop thinking about myself and I start to think about Casey. If she's alive, she needs my help. She saved my life, and I can't let her die.

Somehow I'm able to make myself stand. My legs feel rubbery and nearly give out under me as I slowly make my way to the door. I nearly give up, but the thought that Casey needs my help fuels me on.

My first thought is that it's a trap. That the shooter knew Casey wasn't me and used the elevator ding to make me think he left the floor. I could be walking out into an ambush; he could be standing there with his gun poised, ready to end me.

But I'll take my chances. I have to help Casey.

I take a deep breath and step out into the hall. As soon as I see the scene before me, I have to grab the wall to keep from falling over.

There's no shooter waiting to kill me. Instead, it looks like I've walked into a scene from a very gory horror movie. Casey is lying on the floor on her back, and there's blood everywhere. Blood splattered on the wall nearby, blood all over Casey, and a huge growing pool of blood around her.

The sight of blood has always made me feel sick and I have to take a deep breath and hold it to swallow my nausea. If I were in my right mind right now, I'd be screaming.

I can't even tell you how I'm able to get down on my knees beside Casey, but I somehow do. She has her eyes closed and I can't tell if she's breathing, so with a shaking hand I reach for her neck to see if I can feel a pulse. There's no way she could be alive. Someone can't lose this much blood and be alive.

But she is. Her pulse is faint, but it is there.

I call her name several times, but she doesn't move. I manage to slow my breathing and suppress my shaking long enough to really take a look at her, and I feel sick all over again. I can tell she's been shot twice. Once in the chest, and once near the stomach. The wound in her chest appears to be the worst of the two and gushes out blood every time her heart beats.

I bite my bottom lip as I fumble to take my suit jacket off. I can't do anything about the wound in her stomach, but maybe I can stop some of the bleeding in her chest.

I'm crying by the time I get my jacket off. I press it against the gunshot wound tightly. It turns from beige to blood red in a matter of seconds.

"God, Casey, why did you do this?" I ask, fully knowing she can't answer me. "Why?"

I've slowed the bleeding in her chest, but not stopped it. My hands start to shake again and I'm finding it difficult to hold the jacket in place. She needs help. I have to do something else or she's going to die right here in the hall.

I raise my head and look around. I know I can't leave her – she'll bleed to death in a matter of minutes if I take the jacket away.

"Help us!" I manage to squeak out, my voice hoarse and laced with terror. "Please!"

Someone has to be able to hear me. There has to be someone around.

I yell three more times before I see one of the office interns shakily step out into the hall from an office to my right. His eyes go wide in horror when he sees what's happening.

I can't remember his name, so I just say, "Please! She needs help! Get someone!"

His face grows pale as he looks down at Casey. "Who – what should I do?"

"Just get help!" I scream at him. He makes no attempt to move so I yell again, "Goddamn it, get help! Don't just stand there! She's going to die!"

The interns shakes his head and bolts back into the office, shutting the door behind him.

"What the hell are you doing?" I scream at the closed door, pressing tighter against the wound on Casey's chest. "Why aren't you going to help her? Why are you so useless? Goddamn it, she needs your help!"

As I'm screaming, I know inside that I'm not talking to the intern. I'm screaming at myself. I let this happen to Casey. She's going to die right here in front of me, and it's going to be my fault. I'm going to have to go her funeral and tell her parents that it's my fault their daughter is dead. My fault.

I'm covered in Casey's blood – it's all over my hands and my arms, all the way up to my elbows. The pool of blood around Casey has spread and now I'm kneeling in it.

"Casey, I'm so sorry," I sob, squeezing my eyes closed to block out the sight of the blood. "I'm so, so, sorry."

I shake my head and keep saying I'm sorry over and over again. I have no idea how many times I say it, but I only stop when someone grabs me from behind and calls my name.

Before I realize what's happening, two strong arms are around me, trying to pull me away from Casey.

"Alex – Alex, it's okay. We got the shooter."

I recognize Olivia's voice. She's trying to restrain me as she pulls me away from Casey, but I'm fighting her off.

"No! I won't let Casey die!" I yell at her. I make an attempt to get back to Casey, but Olivia holds me tightly.

"Alex! Stop! Paramedics are here. Let them take care of her. You need to get out of the way."

Olivia forces me to stand and walks me a few feet away. I turn around and place my back against the wall again, but I'm so exhausted that I slide down it and end up sitting as I watch three paramedics tending to Casey. They're working quickly, and the youngest of the three shakes his head as if to say it's hopeless as they load her onto the stretcher.

Olivia is checking me over. "Are you hurt? Did you get shot?"

I pull my eyes away from the paramedics and Casey long enough to look at Olivia. I try to speak, but the words catch in my throat and I start to cry instead.

Olivia immediately pulls me close to her and hugs me tightly. "I am so sorry, Alex. This shouldn't have happened. I'm sorry you had to see this. I can't imagine what this is like for you."

Can't imagine what it's like for me? I'm not the one Olivia should be worried about. She should be concerned about Casey, the person who may die because of me. Because of my cowardice and selfishness.

I cling to Olivia, sobbing as the paramedics take Casey away. I know she thinks I'm sobbing in fear. But it's mostly guilt. Guilt that I brought on myself.

**So what do you think? Casey did a very brave, selfless thing for someone who treated her badly. Do you think she's going to survive? How is Alex going to handle all of this? Please leave me a review!  
**


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